Footsteps crunched on the gravel path just outside the warehouse door.

I saw the red-bound folder near the back of the drawer.

I reached in and pulled it loose.

The folder was heavy, stuffed with printed spreadsheets and signed delivery receipts.

At that moment, the electronic lock on the main door clicked again.

The heavy steel door swung open, letting in a draft of cold California night air.

Two flashlight beams cut through the darkness of the warehouse entrance.

“Check the main office first,” a man’s voice called out from the entryway.

“If the servers are running, smash them.”

I grabbed Eleanor’s arm and pulled her down behind the row of steel filing cabinets.

Vance shut off his monitor, plunging our corner of the room into near-total darkness.

The smell of gasoline drifted through the damp air of the warehouse.

“They’re going to burn it,” Eleanor whispered, her hand tightening on my sleeve.

“We have to go,” I said, tucking the red folder under my arm.

The footsteps moved closer, the soles of heavy work boots scraping against the concrete floor.